


Love Who You Love

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battlefield, Dagor Bragollach, Description of Battle (non-graphic), Fire, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: During the Battle of Sudden Flame, Maedhros and Maglor find out the depth of their feelings for each other. But that's not all....





	Love Who You Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepless_Malice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/gifts).



As if in slow motion, Maedhros saw the flaming arrow soar through the air toward Maglor. Just at the last second, Maglor moved out of the way, but his horse (a young stallion) was thrown into panic at the near miss. Maedhros let out a gasp of mingled relief and fear. 

"Come here!" he shouted at Maglor. Maedhros could not even tell if his brother heard him over the roar of the fires all about and the sounds of screams, or see him amidst the smoke, but he reached out with his good hand, trusting that Maglor would understand. 

One anxious heartbeat he waited, and then Maglor was catching his hand with his own, swinging across from his panicking, bucking horse into Maedhros' arms on his steady white stallion, both of them catching their breath with arms wrapped about each other for a moment. 

"You can do no more here!" Maedhros said fiercely into Maglor's ear. "The field is lost. Sound the retreat and save some lives, or we shall all perish this day in the wrath of a dragon."

Maglor gave him a wide-eyed, startled look. "All my lands are lost if we retreat now." 

"Yes," Maedhros said. "I am sorry, but all your lands are lost in either case. Would you spend lives in a fruitless attempt to protect what cannot be saved?"

Maglor shook his head, already reaching into the bosom of his leather jerkin to pull forth a small flute-like instrument. He blew a surprisingly loud, high-pitched note on it, which carried over the sounds of battle like very little else could. This was followed by five more notes in a simple pattern. 

Repeating the pattern of notes several times, Maglor listened anxiously. Maedhros was keeping his horse at a steady canter away from the fires, and after a moment, Maglor heard the pattern sounding from first one side, then the other, and slowly growing into a crescendo. The whole field was in retreat now, those still mounted catching up those who had lost mounts, wounded reaching up desperate hands for rescue as they went by. 

When it was over, the fires burning every village, walled town, and woodland glade in Maglor's Gap, over ten thousand Elves and Men were dead. The burning spread to Himlad, even under the tall trees of Nan Elmoth, and only died at the foot of the woods of Doriath. And Maglor, weeping against his brother's shoulder, was borne away held close by Maedhros to the mighty fortress of Himring among the winter snows. 

They arrived in the midst of a snowstorm, accompanied by over a thousand Elves and a lesser number of Men, most of them refugees from Maglor's lands. Large though the fortress of Himring was, those numbers, in addition to the ones who had come from Himlad and from Aegnor and Angrod's lands, it was near to bursting. 

"My lord!" The steward of Himring pushed his way through the crowds toward Maedhros and Maglor just dismounting from their horse. "My lords," he corrected himself. "I do not see how I can set aside my lord Maglor's usual rooms. We have people bedding down in every nook and cranny."

"Do not trouble yourself about me," Maglor said. "In our youth, my brother and I shared many a tent in the wild places of Valinor. It will be no hardship for me to share his rooms, if he will?" He looked up at Maedhros with a soft smile. 

"Of course I will," Maedhros answered, smiling down at Maglor, and then turned back to the steward. "Put as many as you can in the warmer rooms at the heart of the castle. My tower will do well enough for me, my brother, and those of my household staff without family, who may sleep in my antechamber."

The rest of that day, it seemed, was occupied with a thousand little cares that happen when a castle suddenly receives half again the number it was expected to hold. Maedhros left the rearrangement of his rooms in Maglor's hands and rushed from kitchen to stables to courtroom to infirmary and finally turned up in his own rooms rather late, picking his way through bedrolls laid out in his antechamber, before disappearing through the heavy wooden door to his own bedroom. 

Maglor was reclining on the bearskin rug near the fire, pensively staring into the flames. Maedhros walked over and dropped down beside him. "Is that my dinner?" he asked, looking toward a pot of stew and a loaf of bread resting on the hot stones near the fire. 

"Yes," Maglor said, looking up. "You look weary." 

Maedhros nodded as he began to eat. For a while there was silence, only broken by the whistling of the wind outside and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Finally he finished eating, and looked around the room. "Ah. I wondered what you did with all the furniture in the anteroom." 

"It had to go somewhere," Maglor said. "Piling it up here seemed the easier course." He took a breath. "Were we followed?"

"I'm not sure yet," Maedhros answered. "It's possible. The scouts I sent out to check our retreat have not yet returned." 

There was a knock at the door, and Maedhros went to answer it. Maglor stood up too, following his brother across the room. A low whispered conversation followed, and Maedhros sighed with weariness when the bad news was finally delivered. "Thank you," he said. "I will consider, but for now, go to your rest." 

The heavy wooden door closed on the world, and for a moment, Maedhros' head was bent and shoulders slumped. Then he straightened, turning to Maglor. "We are besieged, and what's more, by all accounts Aegnor and Angrod's lands have been overrun completely. Dorthonion is lost."

"We're cut off," Maglor said, sinking down on the bed. Maedhros came over and joined him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Is there any news of Curvo and Tyelko? And what of Moryo?" 

"No news," Maedhros said. "Nothing at all." 

"What hope is there?" Maglor turned his face toward Maedhros, pressing a kiss to the strong arm around his shoulders. 

"We have a source of fresh water that the Orcs cannot poison," Maedhros said, as if he were ticking off boxes on a list. "We have food to withstand three months, if we are careful, even with the numbers under our roof. And I have you."

"And I have you," Maglor said. "You've always been my particular comfort against nightmares, you know, and though the loss of my lands breaks my heart, I am glad to be with you." 

Maedhros smiled, but said nothing, instead simply leaning over and kissing Maglor's forehead. "You have done so well," he said after a moment. "I gave you a hard task, some might say an impossible one, to hold those lands. And yet for four hundred years, you held them, and they were beautiful." 

"But nothing in Middle-earth lasts forever," Maglor said. "Nothing except my love for you. I would follow you anywhere. I would slay any who harmed you. I grieve my lands, yes, but I fear nothing other than losing you." 

Maedhros laughed gently. "Always the poet. I'm not so beautiful as I was the last time you said those words." 

"Last time I said them, you forbade me to follow you." 

"So I did," Maedhros said. "And I do not regret it, for I would not have lost you to Angband. But ask again."

Maglor slid off the bed and to his knees, looking up at Maedhros, his hands in a fist over his heart in the way that their family pledged devotion. "My lord, I ask leave to follow in your steps, to share your bed and your board, to fight those you fight and love those you love. Will you keep me close beside you through every battle, and close beside you come grief or victory, and close beside you in the night?" 

A warm blush spread across Maedhros' face, looking down at his brother making this particular pledge. "What you ask is forbidden between us," he said, raising his hand to cover his trembling lips. 

"I know," Maglor said, wrestling with the urge to look away. "I know." 

Maedhros reached out, taking Maglor's hand into his own. "I want to. I want so much."

"Then take what you will, my lord, when it is freely offered."

A slow smile dawned across Maedhros' face. "I will," he whispered. "I will take you." All at once, he pulled Maglor up and into his lap, drawing him near. "I will keep you close, my sweet singer." 

Maglor gave a triumphant laugh and pressed his lips to Maedhros' mouth. They had kissed before, as brothers, and sometimes those kisses had lingered a little longer than they should have, but never before had they kissed as lovers. This kiss changed all that, the heat of arousal sweeping over both of them with the first touch of Maedhros' tongue to Maglor's lips. Their simultaneous groans of pleasure were heard only by the crackling fire and the whistling wind outside.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Barad Eithel, from a distance, looked the same as it always had, white towers rising high into the mountains. It was only when Maedhros and Maglor drew close that the damage became apparent: burnt, blackened outer walls, and stretching into the misty distance, rows upon rows of new-heaped stone cairns. 

It was the same with Fingon. On the outside he was the same merry and welcoming cousin they had always known. But as Maedhros and Maglor approached the dais and Fingon rose from his throne to greet them, they could see the strain and tension of grief at his eyes and lips. 

Maedhros went to his knees, and Maglor followed him, a step behind. 

“Hail, High King of the Noldor!” Maedhros said, looking up from his kneeling position with his hand in a fist over his heart. “We come to pledge our loyalty to you on behalf of our family and followers.” 

Fingon took a few steps forward, coming down the low steps leading down to the floor where they knelt. His lips quivered in a way that betrayed a sudden urge to either laugh or cry. 

Laughter won. “Maitimo,” he said, “get up off that floor right now and come hug me!” 

Maedhros could not resist smiling. “As my King commands!” he said, getting to his feet.

“Do I get a hug too?” Maglor, also getting to his feet, put in. 

Fingon gave him a sudden, slightly too gleeful, smile. “You are welcome to try.” 

Much later, Maedhros and Maglor sat together on a long couch in Fingon's own rooms, watching him give his final orders of the day to various servants, Maglor turned to Maedhros and whispered softly, "how long have you been in love with Fingon?"

Taken aback, Maedhros simply responded with the truth. "Since he won that horse race. You know the one."

"The one where he finished the race standing atop the horse, holding on to nothing and wearing nothing?" Maglor grinned. "Yes, me too."

"What are we going to do about it?" 

They shared a conspiratorial smile, before Maedhros answered with "Leave it to me."

A few moments after this, Fingon turned, dismissing his servants, and made his way over to the arrangement of couches and chairs that decorated his private living space. 

"Well, cousins," he said, "the winter has been hard for us all. I'm glad it's over, though the losses were great."

"Will you let me pledge my loyalty in private?" Maedhros asked. "To add to the declaration I have already made public."

Fingon sat down on a chair across from them. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you not feel your public pledge was enough to demonstrate the depth of your loyalty?" 

Maedhros shook his head, though a smile played around the corners of his mouth. Maglor, on the other hand, was openly smirking at him. "No, my lord, I feel a personal and physical demonstration is necessary." 

A multitude of expressions crossed Fingon's face: disbelief, shock, amazement, and then glee, in quick succession. "What manner of demonstration would this be?" He fought to keep his face straight and his tone cool. 

Maedhros rose, kneeling before Fingon once again, now nearly between Fingon's legs, hand raised to gently touch Fingon's cheek. "I would pledge my devotion in three ways: with my words, with my lips, and with my tongue." 

Fingon in turn placed his own hand on Maedhros' shoulder. "Speak," he said. 

"My lord, I ask leave for my brother and I to follow you, to share your bed and to share ours with you, to fight who you fight, to love who you love. May we be close beside you in battle, close beside you come grief or victory, and close beside you this night?" 

Fingon bent and pressed a kiss to Maedhros' lips. "You may. You both may." At a gesture from him, Maglor came forward, kneeling down beside Maedhros, and Fingon kissed him too. Then he drew back a little. "How did you know I loved you both? I never spoke of it."

"Only that we loved you," Maglor said. 

"And that we loved each other," Maedhros added. "For so long we did not dare speak even to each other, and the joy we found together quite outweighs the fear and grief of the last winter. We hoped it might be the same for you."

Fingon's eyes shone bright with tears unshed. "You both were always the ones I wanted, even when I believed it was wrong. I thought time and again I should have told you, but I find that in this you are the valiant ones. Kiss me again, both of you, and tell me how out of grief you found this joy."


End file.
